


The Red Queen’s Court

by IllMadeKnight



Category: Original Work
Genre: Comedy, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Fractured Fairy Tale, Lovecraftian, Multi, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 08:14:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19205428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IllMadeKnight/pseuds/IllMadeKnight
Summary: In the ruined kingdom of Caruccia a princess is born. A group of inept heroes band together to save their home from ruin and the princess from her mother. At the same a relentless beast is hunting them.(This work has been discontinued but characters and plot points will be used in another story.)





	1. Castle

**Author's Note:**

> I did mention that I was working on an original story didn't I? Here are the two first chapter. Never say I didn't do anything for you. Leave a comment and kudos. Feedback is needed more than ever.

When Morgan had been a child his grandfather had always talked about Caruccia when he’d had one drink too many. A land of magic and wonder full of opportunities and fallen kingdoms just waiting to be discovered. And promptly plundered. It had always been grandfather’s dream to see it with his own two eyes. Then he’d start to cry. That had never bothered Morgan. Grandfather had been old and as far as he knew, old people cried over anything that reminded them of their youth.

When grandfather had calmed down and gone to bed, mother would take Morgan away for a talk. She’d tell him how Caruccia was an evil place full of devils and wickedness. The only people who wanted to see it were fools and criminals with nowhere else to go. Home was the only place Morgan needed to be and there was honest work on the fields. 

Morgan had been a good child who’d believed his mother and nodded in agreement, but children didn’t stay children forever. When Morgan had grown from a child to a young man and buried his grandfather, he found himself wondering. Would he one day be telling his grandchildren his grandfather’s stories about Caruccia and cry when he realized he’d never see it himself? If he stayed home, yes. 

One-night Morgan snuck out and left only a letter behind for his mother to find. The ship that took him to Caruccia was happy to let him work as payment for his trip. There was always use for strong men in ships. It was a long journey, but Morgan told himself it would all be worth it in the end. 

When they reached shore, Morgan couldn’t have been happier. It didn’t last. 

Much to his disappointment Morgan found that there weren’t many opportunities left in Caruccia that he hadn’t been claimed by others. Even more damningly it didn’t look like the magic kingdom from his grandfather’s stories or even the cesspool of vice and sin his mother had warned him about. It was a pity. Morgan had been curious to see what the fuss was all about vice and sin. Even the villages were much like the ones back home. Well-built and full of people just trying to survive. 

Like the people back home, the locals didn’t trust strangers and muttered about the red plague under their breath. 

After two months of working one dead end job after the other at the docks trying to collect money to get back home, Morgan heard that a nearby castle was looking for guards. Real guards with swords. Maybe even guns. Much like with his journey to Caruccia, Morgan dropped everything and left to find the castle.

Much like everything else in Caruccia the castle was a disappointment. 

When Caruccia had been found the noble families from all over the world had claimed all the most ornate palaces for themselves but this one had escaped everyone’s notice. It was sturdily built and well defended despite being far from any enemies. No one would have given it a second look. You would never have guessed that the castle was the home to the most powerful person in all Caruccia.

Morgan certainly hadn’t. By the time he figured it out, it was too embarrassing to back down. 

He wasn’t the only one who’d heard about the open position and Morgan found himself standing in the courtyard with three other men. Like him they were tall, imposing figures. Some of them even more so than him. Unlike him all of them were hardened by war and stood still like soldiers. Morgan cursed his bad luck. How was he supposed to compete with real fighters?

They waited in silence for well over an hour until someone bothered to come and greet them. 

The man who stepped out of the castle was the tallest person Morgan had ever seen. Morgan was a big man, but the giant who’d come out to welcome them still towered over him. His dark hair had grown into a wild mane and the pale face was framed by coarse side-whiskers. His suit and overcoat were dark purple, almost black. One look in his eyes told you he was also crazier than a rat trapped in a burning outhouse. 

“Gentlemen. Welcome. I am the Blessed Ragnar. No applause please. I assume you’re all soldiers?” The giant said.

The man had a strange voice. Bemused like he was on the verge of bursting into song. 

“Yes, sir!” The three soldiers said in unison.

“Uh… yes, sir!” Morgan echoed. 

“Excellent. Everyone. Show me your mitts.” Ragnar said.

“Our what?” Morgan said.

“Your hands! Show me your hands!” Ragnar said.

The three soldiers and Morgan put out their hands. Ragnar walked past them and studied the scars and callouses on their palms. He studied Morgan’s hands the longest of all. Morgan prayed that a farmhand’s calluses weren’t all that different from those of a soldier. Finally Ragnar stepped back. 

“What battles have you fought in?” Ragnar said.

“I was wounded in the Battle of Mudki.” The first soldier said and raised his shirt to show the scar on his chest. He sounded British. 

“I was there too and the Battle of Ferozeshah.” The second soldier said.

“Good. Very good.” Ragnar said.

“I was at the Siege of Fort Texas. Bastards rammed us for six days but never broke through.” The third soldier said with an American accent. 

“Perfect!” Ragnar said and turned to look at Morgan: “What about you? Seen any battles?” 

“I… uh… yes? I’ve been in… hundreds?” Morgan said.

The American grinned while the two Brits smirked.

“Really? Care to name a few?” The American said. 

“They… were named while I wasn’t there.” Morgan said.

The three soldiers laughed. Ragnar just smiled.

“I see. I’m very impressed with all of you. Now, I have only one question. Which of you can change a diaper?” Ragnar said.

The three soldiers looked at each other.

“What?” One of the Brits said.

“A diaper! Can any of you change one?! Or make a child eat his vegetables?!” Ragnar said.

Morgan could’ve told him that no man or god could pull of that miracle. 

The three soldiers glanced at each other, then at the Blessed Ragnar, then at each other again. Without a word they walked out and never looked back. Ragnar called after them desperately.

“Wait! It’s not that bad! Changing diapers isn’t that bad!” Ragnar yelled.

“That’s a woman’s job.” One of the Brits said over his shoulder. 

“How hard can a woman’s job be after fighting in a war?! Come back!” 

The soldiers did not come back.

“Fine! Go! See how far you get without me!” Ragnar yelled close to tears.

If Morgan hadn’t been too embarrassed to just walk out, he would’ve.

Ragnar took out a handkerchief and blew his nose.

“We don’t need those cowards. What kind of a man is afraid of diapers?” Morgan said and turned to look at Morgan: “Know how to change diapers?”

For the first time in the job interview Morgan could answer honestly.

“Yes.”

“Excellent! You are hired.” Ragnar said.

Morgan followed Ragnar into the castle. It didn’t look much like a castle. It was something his mother could have decorated if she’d had the money. Full of warm colors and well-built furniture. Ragnar took him straight to the armory and handed him a red overcoat. And a sword. A large claymore with a black handle. 

“We have privies in every floor. Use them when nature calls. You’ll get your own room. It isn’t big but it is yours. Food is served three times a day. You need anything, ask nurse Shagwell.” Ragnar said.

Morgan bit his tongue. Had he said Shadwell or Shagwell? 

“And if anyone breaks in, stick the sharp end in their dingleberries. I’ll be there when I hear the screams.” Ragnar said.

“Uh… yes, sir.” Morgan said.

“Good man.” Ragnar said and left him to wander the castle alone. 

Morgan did his rounds in the castle, trying to look like he was used to carrying a sword and hoped he didn’t run into anyone who didn’t belong there. After a couple of days, he was feeling more at ease with himself. Why would anyone try to attack this place? And why was it so important for him to know how to change diapers? No one in the castle looked pregnant and he couldn’t hear the voice of children. He rarely heard any voices at all. 

It took some looking but on his fifth night as a castle guard he found someone who didn’t belong there. Morgan was doing his rounds on the rampart when he heard something in the darkness. When he’d still been a farmhand, Morgan had spent many sleepless nights watching over the sheep either from thieves, predators or perverts. Spotting three men climbing up the castle wall was simple enough next to that. What came after, less so.

The three men clad in black pulled themselves up to the rampart and stared at him. Morgan stared back at them and wished he’d been more honest to Ragnar about all the battles he hadn’t fought in.

“Uh… stop?” Morgan said.

The three men dressed in black looked at each other. They didn’t stop. They pulled out their knives and shoved the sharp ends into Morgan before he could even pull out his claymore. He didn’t even have time to cry for his mother before they pulled out their knives and stabbed him again. And again. And again. 

Morgan thought about his mother and how she’d be standing over his grave saying how she’d warned him. But Morgan never listened, did he? He was once such a good boy.

Something in him snapped and he didn’t feel the knives anymore. Morgan decided to fight back. 

There were three of them, but Morgan was a big man and he’d done back breaking work all his life. Numb to the pain he pushed the men away and tried to throw the closest one off the rampart. The assassins backed away from shock but only for a moment. Soon they stuck their knives into Morgan again.

“What is going on here?”

Ragnar had climbed to the rampart in his nightgown. He looked at the assassins and then at the bleeding Morgan.

“You seem to have stabbed my guard.” Ragnar said.

The assassins turned their blades at Ragnar.

In every tavern you could find that one drunken braggart who wouldn’t shut up about some oriental fellow who could break bricks with a single chop and how they’d taught him all their secrets. Those people were always trying to start a fight to show their skills and it always ended in embarrassment for everyone. 

Ragnar did not embarrass himself. Ragnar’s hand chop cut a man’s head off. 

The night fell silent and even the wind held its breath. Death had come so suddenly that the headless body stayed standing for a good while before falling over. 

When the body fell over Morgan finally pulled out his sword and shoved it in the other assassin’s dingleberries. The scream broke the silence.

“Good man.” Ragnar said and picked both men up and cracked their skulls together before throwing them off the rampart.

Morgan fell on his knees and his breathing came out in pained wheezes. The numbness was fading, and the pain was coming back. Pain! So much pain! Ragnar wiped his hands on his nightgown and much to Morgan’s horror he didn’t believe in underwear. 

“Don’t worry, my boy. It’s not as bad as it looks… Wait. Yes, it is. I think your guts are falling out. Oh, well. Nothing we can’t fix.” Ragnar said and picked Morgan up: “Upsy-daisy.”

Mercifully Morgan passed out. 

Morgan floated in darkness for what seemed like an eternity thinking he was dead. It wasn’t so bad. There was no pain or thoughts. Eternity just passed him by peacefully. 

Then he woke up. 

“How do you like your coffee?”

A woman was standing next to Morgan’s bead. By the looks of it a nurse. She was older than him by at least ten years but still beautiful. He could make out faint red rashes in her throat and cheeks. 

“Uh…” Morgan said.

“Do you want it black? Your shift is about to start.” The nurse said.

Morgan looked at his stomach. There were only faint scars where the assassins had stabbed him. All of them should have been lethal. 

“… what? What… is going on?” Morgan whispered. 

The nurse looked at him puzzled. 

“I’m asking how you want your coffee while you’re asking questions.”

“… I… I should be… dead.”

“Oh, you’re new here. You just got gutted. Don’t worry about it. Happens all the time around here. Nothing we can’t fix. You want sugar in your coffee?” The nurse said before she started coughing.

They were long painful wheezes and Morgan forgot he should be dead. He got up to support her and realized too late he wasn’t wearing anything under the blankets.

“Are you alright?” Morgan said while trying to cover himself and support the nurse. 

“Never better.” The nurse said while wiping her mouth in a handkerchief: “This just happens whenever someone has to be healed. It will pass in a couple of days. Unless you get gutted again.”

The nurse put away the handkerchief and smiled.

“I’m nurse Shagwell.”

Morgan cursed himself. The mystery deepened. Now he wasn’t sure if it was Shadwell, Shagwell or Shackwell. Morgan was left to eat his breakfast and study his wounds. There wasn’t even any pain. That should not have been possible.

When he got dressed for his rounds Morgan decided not to think about it. If no one was surprised by his miraculous recovery, then maybe he shouldn’t either. And how had Ragnar done… that? No man could be that strong. Not even a mad man. But then again… he wasn’t being payed for asking questions. Just guarding the castle. He had never been much for thinking. 

From there on Morgan tried to pretend like nothing had happened and just did his job as usual. It was surprisingly easy. 

If he was very lucky, he’d stumble on nurse… Shagwell? Shackwell? Shadwell? He’d stumble into the nurse for a nice chat. Despite her being a bit older than him, he wouldn’t have minded finding out if she lived up to her name. 

He was lucky that evening and nurse Shagwell was as happy to see him as he was her. There wasn’t much company in the castle. The two of them might have been the only servants in there which was… odd. Even a small castle would’ve needed a small army of cleaners but he never spotted any dust. 

Neither of them heard Ragnar coming. Morgan suspected that people rarely did until it was too late. It was hard to look at Ragnar without remembering how he’d cut a man’s head off with his bare hands. 

“Come. It is time.” Ragnar said sounding more excited than usual. 

He didn’t have the nerve to ask what it was time for. Judging from the way nurse Shagwell gasped, he was supposed to know already. Why didn’t anyone ever tell him these things? Morgan followed Ragnar without a word and wondered if the peasants were getting uppity. He hoped not. He was a peasant himself. 

Ragnar took him deep underground.

The castle didn’t look very impressive at first glance but looks could be deceiving. Most of the castle was hidden underground and here the walls were made from a strange metal Morgan had never seen. It was warm to the touch and smoother than glass. Lamps that didn’t work with gas lighted their way and every door before them opened on their own. Like every man, woman and child, Morgan knew magic was real but something about the magic in the castle felt… wrong. 

“I’m glad you’re here with us. It is good to have someone else who has bled and killed for our lady. Someone I can trust.” Ragnar said.

People in the nearby village whispered of the castle’s invisible lady. Each story he’d heard was more unbelievable than the last, but he knew those stories already. 

“My grandfather… told me stories about the queen of Caruccia. He said… she was two-thousand years old… and could make others immortal.” Morgan said.

“Did he now? I don’t know if she is. I’ve only served her for three hundred years.” Ragnar said and laughed: “Besides, it is rude to ask a lady’s age.” 

Finally, they arrived at a door that was heavier and thicker than any other and it didn’t open when they approached it. What Morgan could only describe as a small, glowing red eye above the door, was looking at them. Judging them. After a moment a small hatchet next to the door opened revealing buttons with numbers like the ones Morgan had once seen in a typewriter. Only smoother. Ragnar walked up to it and typed something in.

The door opened.

It should have been freezing that deep beneath the earth, but the air was hot and humid. The kind that glued your clothes on your skin with sweat. Morgan dried his forehead in his sleeve to no avail while Ragnar was cool as a winter day. 

A mountain of pillows had been stacked in the middle of the room and on the pillows lay an egg. The egg was larger than a man’s head and dyed in shades of blue, red and green like some strange jewel. And it was moving gently. 

Even Morgan’s professional embarrassment couldn’t keep him quiet.

“… what is this?” Morgan whispered.

Ragnar didn’t answer. Morgan doubted he even heard him. Ragnar looked like a pious man who’d finally received a vision from his god. The first crack appeared on the egg. Then another. Ragnar gasped and moved towards the egg. Then he hesitated. Ragnar turned slowly towards Morgan who recognized an unsaid command. 

Watching his step Morgan climbed up the pillow mountain towards the egg. Whatever was inside the egg, was fighting to get out but it couldn’t quite break the shell. When he made it to the egg, Morgan was half-blinded by sweat but it wasn’t because of the heat. Not anymore. He’d been so quick to obey that he hadn’t stopped to think if he’d been set up. What kind of a monster would come out of the egg that could scare even Ragnar? Had he been brought here to be a sacrifice? 

The egg split in two.

It was not a monster. It was something far worse.

“… well?” Ragnar whispered.

“It’s… it’s a baby.” Morgan said.

A regular baby with a faint stubble of red hair. 

Ragnar licked his thin lips.

“… show me.”

Morgan figured out quickly the right way to hold a baby or at least he hoped it was the right way. He climbed down carefully the baby in one hand. When he offered the baby to Ragnar, the giant hesitated for a moment like the baby burned to touch. Then he picked it up and the smile made him look like a wily, old wolf that had spotted a dimwitted calf. 

“Finally. After so many failures… finally.” Ragnar said.

Failures? While Ragnar was blinking back tears, Morgan looked around and noticed the old eggshells littering the floor hidden by shadows. Something else had hatched here long ago. 

“She’s so beautiful.” Ragnar said.

Morgan agreed to disagree. Babies were some of the ugliest things he’d ever seen. Bald, needy, wrinkly and covered in filth. He’d even gotten that slime on his coat. Ragnar’s smile dimmed a bit when he noticed that the newborn’s goo was now covering his hands. Ragnar pushed the baby quickly back to Morgan and then wiped his hands clean on Morgan’s coat. 

“Yes. Good job, Morgan. You should…” Ragnar said.

Then the baby started crying. They were long ugly sobs that could drive a man insane and Ragnar backed away slowly.

“Well… uh… good luck with… that. Take her to Shagwell. She’ll know what to do. I hope. Keep her safe.”

Morgan hurried to find Shagwell and hoped like hell she could silence this banshee. Before going deaf Morgan tried using his parents’ method to deal with crying children.

“Quit your whining or I’ll give you something to whine about.”

It didn’t work. Come to think of it, it hadn’t worked on him either. The baby called his bluff and started howling even louder. 

Nurse Shagwell was waiting for him just outside the door that led to the underground and was rubbing her hands expectantly. She smiled giddily when she saw the newborn. Undeterred by the screaming she took the baby from Morgan’s grateful hands. The little monster fell silent immediately. 

“Look at her! And her itty-bitty widdle toes! Does the great conqueror have the most adorable itty-bitty widdle toes?! Yes, she does!”

The great conqueror with the most adorable itty-bitty widdle toe let out an expectant groan.

“Is the great conqueror hungry? Yes, she is. Yes, she is.” Nurse Shagwell said and then with one practiced motion pulled out one of her breasts.

Morgan looked away just slowly enough to see everything. The great conqueror muttered approvingly and then started sucking. 

“Ragnar… uh… ordered you to take care of her.” Ragnar said.

“Does the great conqueror need a good scrubbing? Yes, she does. Yes, she does! She needs a good scrubbing and her itty-bitty widdle toes counted.”

While feeding the great conqueror and counting her itty-bitty widdle toes, wet nurse Shagwell took her to be bathed. Morgan followed them reluctantly to make sure the great conqueror was safe. Once the great conqueror was full, wet nurse Shagwell patted her back until she let out a wet burb. 

Then it was bathing time. 

Once the great conqueror had been scrubbed pink, wet nurse Shagwell took her to her new room. The crib was suited for a princess that the great conqueror was. 

“Call me if she needs feeding.” Wet nurse Shagwell said.

Morgan couldn’t wait for the great conqueror to get hungry again. He held vigil over the baby in his sweat baked clothes that reeked of newborn slime. He wanted a bath. He wanted a nap. He wanted to count the great conquerors itty-bitty widdle toes. He wanted to see Shagwell breastfeeding again. He wanted that very much.

Then she arrived.

Morgan felt her long before he heard her. Long before he saw her. Unlike Ragnar you always knew when the red queen was on her way. There was no need for her to act coy. Where could someone hide from her? Caruccia could have been the palm of her hand. 

The wooden door opened, and his queen entered.

Despite the claymore on his belt Morgan felt small and helpless. Instinctively he went down on his knees and pressed his forehead against the floor when the red queen walked… no. She didn’t walk. She slithered over the floor like a snake. The queen was clad in red robes that took vaguely the shape of a human and her face was covered by a white mask. Whenever he dared to glance at her, Morgan could’ve sworn the mask’s expressions changed with the queen’s mood.

“My queen.” Morgan whispered.

“Michael.”

“It’s… uh… Morgan.”

“Oh.” The queen said sounding embarrassed: “Isn’t that a girl’s name?” 

“It can be a man’s name too.” Morgan said like a man who’d heard it before. 

“I see.” 

The queen leaned over the crib.

“Look at her. And look at her itty-bitty widdle toes. Have they been counted?”

“Yes. Ten in total.” Morgan said.

“Good work.”

The great conqueror opened her eyes and reached out blindly for her mother. When the baby’s hands brushed the white mask, the queen pushed her hands away gently.

“Not today, little one. Should mommy count your itty-bitty widdle toes to make sure Shagwell got them all? She thinks she does.”

The red queen who ruled Caruccia from the shadows with an iron fist picked up her daughter with something that weren’t hands and counted her itty-bitty widdle toes. When all ten had been accounted for, she put the baby back in the crib.

“Does mommy’s little conqueror need a name? Yes, she does.” The red queen said and turned towards Morgan: “Morgan.”

“My queen.”

“Ragnar told me you stabbed one of the thieves in the dingleberries.” 

“Yes, my queen.”

“Good work. Now, what is your mother’s name?”

“Gruoch.” Morgan said.

An awkward silence fell in the room. The red queen ignored him and turned her attention back to the baby.

“I think she looks like an… Eleanor.” The queen said and a red tentacle reached out from under the robes to brush the baby’s face: “Guard her with your life, Morgan. Do this and you will be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams. Fail me and…” 

The unsaid threat hung heavily in the air. Morgan felt like he was expected to say something.

“Uh… you’ll kill me?”

“Of course not. Ragnar will. I’ll do the torturing.” The queen said.

“I understand.” Morgan said.

“Excellent. You do know how to change diapers, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Ragnar never got the hang of it and we can’t just have Shagwell…”

The red queen fell silent again.

“Morgan?”

“Yes, my queen?”

“Do you know if it’s Shagwell? Or Shadwell? Or Shackwell? I honestly have no idea.”

“It’s… Uh… it’s… Shadwell?” Morgan guessed.

“Have I been saying it wrong all these years? You think she noticed?”

“She’s never said anything.” Morgan said.

“Let us hope. Anyway, we can’t leave her alone with the diaper duty.” 

The queen left leaving Morgan alone with the great conqueror. He looked in the crib. The great conqueror had fallen asleep again. What had he gotten himself into? He’d only wanted a job with a living wage and reasonable hours while seeing the world. Was that too much to ask? When the great conqueror shivered, Morgan instinctively pulled the blanket over her… and she grabbed his fingers in her sleep. 

The child’s grip was weak but warm. Maybe newborns weren’t so ugly after all. She didn’t look like an Eleanor now that he had a closer look at her. She looked more like an…

“Ellie.”

The next few days were busy when the noble families of Caruccia travelled to meet their secret queen and pledge their loyalty to the newborn princess. Morgan watched them come from the castle wall. The lords and ladies in all their fineries. Just like him they had come to Caruccia searching for their fortune and found it. And more. 

While the lords and ladies were celebrating the birth of their new princess, Morgan and nurse Shagwell had their own private party feasting on the leftovers and Morgan got to find out whether Shagwell lived up to her name or not. 

Once the celebration was over and the bodies buried, life at the castle fell into a gentle monotony. Most of Morgan’s duties involved watching over Ellie with wet nurse Shagwell. On his free time, he finally learned how to use the claymore Ragnar had given him. Swords were lighter than he’d thought. Not much heavier than the hoe he’d used on the fields as a farmhand and chopping wood wasn’t all that different from chopping limbs. 

Years passed him by like a pickpocket. 

It felt like Ellie went from a baby to a young child overnight. Once she learned how to walk, you only had to let her out your sight for a moment for a catastrophe to happen. Whenever Morgan got tired of looking after the red-headed calamity, he only had to remind himself of the red queen’s promise. And threat. 

Climbing to the roof to get Ellie down was nothing to the questions.

On her more docile moments Ellie could stare for a long time at the village built under the castle’s shadow. The people in there looked no bigger than ants from the castle but Ellie never seemed to get tired of looking at them.

“Why can’t I ever go out?” Ellie said.

“Your mother has forbidden it.” Morgan said.

“What’s the point of being a princess if you can’t go anywhere?” Ellie said.

“It’s not safe out there.” Morgan said.

Ellie grinned. She’d lost several her baby teeth and her smile was full of gaps. 

“When I’m queen, I’ll go on a journey and fix all the things that make it dangerous. Then my children won’t have to be trapped here.”

Trapped? Morgan winced. Did Ellie see him as her jailer? Was he her jailer? 

Ellie turned back to stare out of the window. Her eyes stayed on the people working at the fields. 

“It’s stupid that kids have to work on fields all day.”

“Their parents work there too.” Morgan pointed out.

“It’s stupid for them too. Their backs hurt. Their joints hurt. Everything hurts. When I’m queen no one has to work. Food and playtime will be free for all.”

“And who makes the food?” Morgan said.

“The slaves.”

“I see and… if people don’t think slaves are a good idea?” Morgan said.

“I’ll execute them. Isn’t that what queens do when people don’t do what the queen wants?”

“Queens can be executed too. I think that’s why the guillotine was invented.” Morgan said.

“What’s a guillotine?” 

Morgan tried to explain it to her the best he could. Ellie didn’t seem impressed. 

“That’s dumb. Why would I need a machine for when I have you?” Ellie said.

“I don’t think I want to execute people.” Morgan said.

“Why? You’ve killed someone before.” Ellie said.

A bee stung Morgan’s heart.

“I’ve never killed anyone.” Morgan lied quickly.

It was such a well-practiced lie it was almost true. Ellie turned to look at her with those brown eyes of her that looked red in the setting sun. Those eyes were far too old for a five-year-old. 

“You’re lying.”

Sweat ran down Morgan’s back.

“No. I’m not.”

“I can see it. You’re thinking of him right now. The man you killed. The one you stabbed in the rump. Why are you lying to me?” Ellie said.

Morgan couldn’t face her gaze. The gaze of five-year-old who was older than she seemed. 

“I… don’t want to remember. I… I don’t think you should execute people just because they don’t do what you say… and I don’t really like stabbing people in the rump.” Morgan said.

Ellie didn’t answer and turned to stare out of the window again.

“Morgan?”

“Yes?”

“There’s a circus coming to the village.”

“I know.” Morgan said.

“If I said I wanted to go see it, would you be mad?”

“No.” Morgan said.

“If I asked you to take me, what would you say?” 

“Yes.”

The queen found out of course. There was nothing that happened in the castle that she didn’t know about, but Morgan wasn’t punished which he thought was the queen’s blessing. 

More time passed and one morning Morgan found the first grey hair in his black hair. There were also wrinkles around his eyes that hadn’t been there before. They were fine as a spider’s thread but impossible for him to ignore. At the same time Ellie grew from a gangly girl to a young woman with long, unruly red hair. The longer her hair grew, the more uneasy she became. Only her mother’s lessons could calm her down and she was always eager to show Morgan what she’d learned.

When Ellie summoned him, Morgan found her in her room proudly holding a potted flower.

“Look what I can do now.” Ellie said.

“I’m looking.” Morgan said.

Ellie placed the flower on the table and then started ripping off its petals one by one until the flower was bare. Then clasped the flower in her hands. Something happened. Something Morgan couldn’t quite name. He could feel something being pulled away and towards the flower. Something was being pulled away from him.

Then Ellie pulled her hand away and the feeling passed.

The flower’s petals had grown back, and it looked stronger and healthier than ever.

“Cool, right?” Ellie said.

Morgan stared at the flower. Then at Ellie. Cool? It was not a word he would have used. Terrifying. Yes. Terrifying was more like it, but he could never have said it out loud. Not to Ellie. Not when she was looking at him so proudly. Instead he forced himself to smile and patted her head.

“You must have worked very hard for that.” Morgan said and made Ellie beam with pride.

After making an excuse to leave, Morgan rushed away from the room and fell on his knees.

“Good God.” He whispered.

Grandfather had been right about Caruccia being a place of miracles, but miracles could be terrifying too. The plagues that had hit Egypt had been miracles too. They had…

Morgan lost his train of thought when he noticed the plants that nurse Shagwell had placed by the windows. All of them had turned infection red and withered away. Something else he decided not to think too hard of. A simple man like him wasn’t made for thinking. 

With every passing day Ellie grew more restless until even her mother couldn’t calm her down. The day after her fourteenth birthday Morgan found her again by the window. She looked like she’d been crying.

“Ellie?”

“One of the old men in the village died.”

“… oh.”

Ellie blinked back tears.

“His grandchild was sick and… I… I tried to heal her and… I did but… now he’s dead.”

Ellie started crying in earnest and without thinking Morgan hugged her. Ellie cried quietly against his chest. 

“He wanted always to leave the village and become an actor, but… something always came up and he pushed it off. Before he knew it, he… he was too old for acting and now he’s dead.”

Morgan didn’t know what to say. It was a strange moment. He realized he’d travelled across the world to avoid living all his life in a tiny village but here he was. A man past forty who had lived all his life in little villages. 

Morgan stood still until Ellie was ready to dry her eyes. 

“Mother says the time is close… for me to become like her.” Ellie said.

Morgan shuddered. 

“I… see.” Morgan said.

Ellie wiped the snot out her nose. 

“If I said… I didn’t want to be a queen; would you get mad?”

“No.”

Ellie nodded.

“If I asked you to help me escape, what would you say?”

“Yes.”


	2. Brother Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A down on it's luck circus comes across two runaways and a certain stage magician has to decide what kind of a man he'll be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, kudos and feedback are much appreciated.

The last scion of house Torrini stood on his sorry excuse of a stage and looked at his paltry audience. He was miserable despite having a lot to be happy about. He wasn’t dead or on fire. Neither of which he should have taken for granted. It was a minor miracle that house Torrini had survived this long. It had a bad habit of producing scoundrels, rogues and a few utter tossers. If someone had asked if he was a scoundrel, rogue or an utter tosser, he would have told them to sod off and mind their own business. 

An utter tosser, whoever had asked would’ve decided. 

The last scion of house Torrini, Salvatore, glared at his audience. 

He was good at glaring. So good that the thing people noticed first about him and remembered the longest were his eyes. Two blue moons that saw more than they revealed. When you saw past the eyes, Sal wasn’t a handsome man. His skin was the color of tea and his face was long with jug ears and a large, sharp nose. The hair peeking under his top hat was unruly. His top hat and overcoat had once been black but had faded into grey. All his socks had holes in them, and Sal had the grimly determined look of a man who suspected that he deserved to have holes in his socks. 

When the glaring didn’t make his audience grow more numerous Sal let out a defeated sigh and did his job. The usual coin and card tricks to a distracted audience that was just killing time until they could see the better attractions. The only stir he got came when he started juggling knives but even that died down when he didn’t make a mistake and lose a finger. If he hadn’t been sober, he would’ve tried sword swallowing despite someone always trying sucker punch him in the middle of it. He couldn’t even get volunteers for the handcuff trick. 

When the ordeal was over, Sal waited for applause but got only silence and a solitary boo. He didn’t get any more customers that evening. Sal stepped out of his tent to see how his business partners were doing. 

Jules the Acrobat leaped and vaulted in ways that was only possible if you didn’t know how gravity was supposed to work. On the other end of the circus Camilla the Cannibal was wrestling with her bear. Both had managed to draw a small crowd, but it wasn’t anything that could earn enough money to keep the three of them fed. 

While wondering how he’d keep his circus alive through the winter, Sal noticed them. Or maybe they should’ve been called Them. They were serious enough for it. Very serious men in serious dark clothing mingled among the customers and disappeared into the crowd. The men were very good at disappearing. It was a magic trick and Sal knew magic tricks. It seemed like they were looking for something. Or someone. Who were…?

“Hey! Darkie. Got anything to drink around here?”

Sal turned to look at one of their customers and nodded. He fetched the moonshine and spent the rest of the night selling shots. With any luck their customers would be drunk enough to leave the kind of tips they’d spent the rest of their lives regretting. 

It was well after midnight that the circus was finally empty, and the moment Sal dreaded the most was upon him. It was time to bring in the money. Camilla the Cannibal and Jules the Acrobat gathered in Sal’s wagon and showed their earning for the evening. 

“Can you believe one of the parents complained that my show was too scary for their kids?! God! Is it my fault that they’re raising cowards?!” Camilla said with a voice not suited for whispering.

Camilla the Cannibal was as tall as they came and had the biceps of an arm-wrestling champion. Her hair was tied into a thick braid and her tanned face was sprinkled with freckles, but people rarely saw them. Most of the time she was hidden under her bearskin cloak with the bear’s head as a hood. 

“You didn’t threaten to feed them to that bear again, did you?” Jules the Acrobat said.

Jules the Acrobat was short, lean and handsome with curly brown hair and a small mole under his large eyes. It reminded Sal of a black tear. He had the muscles of a monkey that the blue leotard was designed to show off. Despite his best efforts the leotard was frayed and faded. 

“I don’t make threats! I make promises!” Camilla said.

“We’re not feeding kids to bears. Or to you.” Sal said.

“Who would know if we ate the evidence?!” Camilla said.

“Camilla.” Sal warned.

“Fine! Be like that! I’d never eat a coward anyway! You’re what you eat!” Camilla said.

Jules smiled awkwardly when he noticed Sal’s empty hands. 

“Tough crowd, huh?” Jules said, trying to sound like it was no big deal.

Camilla slapped Sal’s back and almost paralyzed him.

“You just need to grab the audience by the balls and squeeze until they know who’s boss!”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Sal said.

All three fell quiet and stared at their earnings. All of them came to the same conclusion. 

“You know… I’m not much for counting but that doesn’t look like a lot of money.” Camilla said. 

“Nope.” Sal agreed.

“Which means we’re more screwed than a passed-out wench in a brothel.” Camilla said.

Jules smiled nervously.

“Come on, guys. We only need one good night to get back on our feet and… and we have time until winter. We just have to keep going.” Jules said.

“Yeah. One good night. That’s all we need.” Sal agreed half-heartedly.

“We could try closer to a big city.” Camilla said.

“Philippe has called dibs on those. We go anywhere near those places; we can bend over and kiss our butts goodbye.” Sal said.

“Okay. I see where the problem is. I’m just putting it out there so hear me out.” Camilla said.

“We’re not killing Philippe.” Sal said.

“Uh… you don’t know I was going to suggest that.” Camilla said.

“Then what was your idea?” Sal said.

“Um… I… Shut up!”

“At least we’re making an honest living.” Jules said.

“I don’t want to make an honest living. I want to be rich.” Sal said.

“Same.” Camilla agreed.

All three stared at the coins and a few crumbled bills hoping they’d start mating. 

“Look, guys. You’re my friends and I love you but if we run out of food, I will eat both of you. You know that, right?” Camilla said.

“I suspected as much but didn’t want to assume.” Sal said.

“Just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.” Camilla said and got up: “I’m taking Phobos for a walk. I might not return until morning.”

“We’ll hold the fort.” Sal said.

When Camilla closed the door behind herself, Sal let himself collapse and slam his forehead on the table. 

“She’s not really going to eat us, is she?” Jules said.

Sal looked up with a few coins and bills glued to his forehead. 

“Want to find out? If this keeps up, we’ll start eating each other before the winter is over and I don’t like my chances if you two gang up on me.” Sal said.

Jules let out a sound that couldn’t decide if it was a sob or a snort.

“Want to go get something to eat and drink?” Sal said.

“We should watch our money.” Jules said.

“Not much money to watch. We need to stay positive and it’s hard to do that when you’re hungry.” Sal said.

There wasn’t anything worth stealing in their camp besides the horses, but they were vicious beasts that didn’t let anyone, but their owners approach them, so they didn’t worry about leaving them unguarded. They walked the short distance to the village. Despite the late hour the village tavern was still open, and Sal bought them drinks while Jules picked a table. 

“Maybe I should try stripping again.” Sal said after sitting down.

“You used to strip?” Jules said.

“Only when I’m drunk, and people always paid me good money to get dressed.” Sal said.

Jules laughed.

“I’m sure you were a real hit.”

“The Scourge of Caruccia they called me.” Sal said.

“I’m sure you…”

Jules fell quiet when a great shadow fell over Sal. 

“Rough evening, gentlemen?”

Sal looked up and saw the largest man he’d ever met. A giant. His head almost reached the tavern’s ceiling. He had broad shoulders, powerful arms and a flat, hard stomach. The dark hair had grown wild and rough side-whiskers followed the strong jawline. His suit was dark purple, almost black, and it had seen a lot of travel. How had someone that huge snuck up on him? 

“Uh…” Sal said.

The giant placed his hands on Sal’s shoulders and started rubbing them in an almost affectionate manner. 

“I’m sure it seems tough now but think about this way. Hundred years from now you’ll be dead and none of this will matter.”

Sal looked at Jules pleading silently for help. The giant was obviously insane. Jules agreed but didn’t know how to help.

“I… I guess.” Jules said.

“I know I’m right, but I guess it doesn’t really comfort either of you much right now.” The giant said and finally took his hands away from Sal’s shoulders.

The giant offered them cigars.

“You smoke?”

“No.” Jules said. 

“Only after lovemaking… so no.” Sal said.

The giant laughed.

“That’s funny. You’re funny.” 

“Most people think I lose my charm fast.” Sal said.

“Then let’s make this quick. I have a problem too. I was hoping you could help me.” The giant said and sat between Sal and Jules. 

The giant ordered them more drinks. 

“Do we have to get undressed for that?” Sal said. 

The giant laughed and reached over the table to pinch Sal’s cheek.

“You’re precious. My queen would love you.” The giant said and lit himself a cigar: “I’m looking for somebody. Two somebodies actually. Eleanor and Morgan.”

“We haven’t run into any women lately.” Jules said.

“Morgan is a man.” The giant said.

“Are you sure? I think Morgan’s a woman’s name.” Sal said.

“I’m…” The giant said before looking uncertain. He blew out a smoke ring: “I suppose it’s possible Morgan was an ugly girl this entire time.”

“Those wily women. You’ll never know what they’ll think of next.” Sal said.

“Indeed. I’ve been following their scent with my men. All the way to your circus and then I lost track of them. A terrible pity. Now I would be very grateful for any sightings of them. Eleanor is a girl of fourteen with long red hair. Morgan is older with some grey in his black hair. A big guy who carries a big sword.” 

“Haven’t seen them. What about you?” Sal said.

Jules just shook his head.

The giant blew out more smoke.

“You know, a circus performed in our little village a few of years ago. It was a lot bigger than yours. I think it was called the Gentlemen of the Shade. Ever heard of it?”

Jules looked embarrassed. Sal emptied his glass. 

“The owner… Philippe, is known to us.” Sal said behind clenched teeth. 

“Must be tough competing with someone like that. You’d need a lot of money to put up a fight.” The giant said and placed something on the table.

It was a gold coin the size of a large button. The gold gleamed seductively in the candlelight. 

“I’d be very grateful for any help. I trust you’ll keep your eyes peeled.” The giant said.

“That you most certainly can.” Sal said without taking his eyes off the coin. 

“Excellent.” The giant said and offered Jules his hand: “Blessed Ragnar.” 

“Jules Bellerose.” Jules said.

“My pleasure. What about you?”

Sal took Ragnar’s hand and almost lost his. Ragnar’s grip could crush rocks.

“Salvatore Torrini. The ringmaster of the Flying Circus.” Sal said while wincing from the pain. 

“A master, eh? I’ll remember that, Salvatore Torrini. Have another drink. On me. And Torrini?”

“Yeah?”

“I like your hat. Take good care of it. It brings the outfit together.” Ragnar said. 

Despite his size Ragnar was light on his feet like a ballerina and silent like a falling leaf. When he was gone, Sal realized sweat had glued his shirt to his back. His heart was beating fast enough to be painful like it was trying to claw its way out of his chest. Jules was wiping his forehead and trying to catch his breath. 

“… what was that?” Jules whispered like speaking too loudly could summon Ragnar back.

“… I don’t know.” Sal whispered back. 

While rubbing feeling back to his hand, the tavern keeper brought them more brandy. They drank them gratefully. 

After calming down Sal studied the coin.

“Sweet Jesus. Is that real?” Jules said.

It looked real enough and Sal brought it to his teeth. He didn’t know why but he’d heard of people biting gold coins to verify them. It looked and tasted real enough. His teeth left a dent in it. The profile of a dragon had been printed into the coin. A single coin like this had to be worth more than what the circus made in a week. 

“Lord All Mighty. I think so.” Sal said.

What should he do? Ragnar obviously had more coins like this one. Only a fool would show off their wealth like this and everyone knew it was immoral to let a fool keep his money. Take the money and feed the evidence to Phobos. Or to Camilla. Everybody would be happier. Except Ragnar. Because he’d be dead. 

Sal sighed and wished he was desperate enough to kill a man for money. 

After finishing their drinks and having something to eat they returned to the circus with leftovers. Before they reached camp, Sal stopped. Jules looked at him puzzled.

“What is it?”

Sal dropped on his knees and pressed his ear against the ground.

“You hear that?” Sal said.

Jules followed Sal’s example and pressed his ear on the earth. Then he heard it too. Footsteps. Coming from camp. People talking in hushed tones. They stood up and looked around hoping to see Camilla, but she was still on her walk. Then they looked at each other. Both nodded and snuck back to camp. Jules picked up a heavy stick while Sal pulled out his knife. They sneaked to the wagon that the thieves had broken into. 

Sal touched the door lightly and Jules nodded. 

Sal yanked the door open and Jules prepared to brain anyone who’d snuck inside while they were away. 

Inside the wagon wasn’t thieves but a young girl and an older man.

The girl didn’t have long red hair, but nothing would’ve stopped her from cutting it short and dying it brown. The man with her didn’t have black hair. As a matter of fact, he had no hair at all. His skull had been shaved smooth, but he did have a thick black beard with stripes of grey in it.

Both were obviously starving. 

Jules froze in place with the heavy stick in air. The girl had gone pale from fright and the man pulled her quickly behind himself. All four stared at each other too embarrassed to speak. Jules was the first one to recover and he put the stick down.

“Are you looking for food?” Jules said. 

“We were going to pay for it.” The man said embarrassed.

“Sure, you were.” Sal said.

“Sorry.” Jules said and patted Sal’s shoulder: “He’s bit of a grump.”

The man stepped out guarding the girl and eyed Sal suspiciously who realized he was still holding the knife. He returned it to its sheath under his overcoat. Not like it would’ve done him much good. The man was no Ragnar, but he still looked strong enough to snap Sal’s and Jules’s necks without trying. 

Jules gave them a small bow.

“I am Jules. Welcome to our circus.”

The girl grinned.

“Was that an invitation?”

“Didn’t it sound like an invitation?” Jules said.

“Then we accept your hospitality. Mother says hosts can’t harm their guests.” The girl said.

“And the guest can’t harm the host.” Sal said while looking at the claymore hanging from the man’s waist: “So keep that sword away. I’m too poor to die.”

Jules led them to the campfire and gave them food that they had brought with them from the tavern. 

“I don’t think we got your names.” Sal said.

“We didn’t get yours either.” The man said.

“Fair enough. Salvatore Torrini.” Sal said.

“I’m… Frank. She’s Donna.” The man said.

The girl stuffed her face with bread and cheese while looking around.

“I like your circus.” The girl said.

“Glad someone does.” Sal said.

Jules smiled awkwardly.

“We’ve been having bit of a rough season, but we’ll make through it.” 

The man… Frank chewed his food thoughtfully. 

“My grandfather told me a story about a magician called Torrini once. He sawed a woman in half for the pope and then put her back together.”

“That was my great-grandfather.” Sal said with some satisfaction.

“Didn’t that tricks secret get out?” The girl said.

“Yes. Yes, it did.” Sal said and waved around the camp: “This is the result.”

“A circus came to our village once. It was a lot bigger than this one.” The girl said.

Sal grumbled an answer. Jules patted his shoulder sympathetically. He would have felt the urge to slap the girl if the comment hadn’t been so devoid of malice. The girl wasn’t mean. Just an idiot. 

“The competition is rough on show business.” Jules said. 

“On any business. You can’t be scared to get your hands dirty.” Sal and cut himself some cheese: “So… what are you running from?”

“Sal, that’s their business.” Jules said.

“If we give them shelter, we have a right to know.” Sal said.

“We’re on a pilgrim and…” The man said.

“I ran away from home. From my mother.” The girl said.

“El…! Donna!” 

_This fellow is a bad actor_ , Sal thought.

“Does it really matter anymore? She was trying to make me… do something I didn’t want to. So, I left and… Frank helped me.” The girl said.

“I get it.” Jules said.

Jules’s eyes were full of understanding. He always understood so well and cared so much. He would’ve given the shirt off his back for a stranger if he thought they needed it more. That made the next part so much harder but honest living hadn’t done them any favors. Someone had to make the hard decisions and get their hands dirty. 

“I’m not much of a host but guests are safe in my circus.” Sal said and forced himself to smile: “Anyone want a drink?”

“I think I’ll pass.” The man said.

“I could have some.” The girl said.

“No, you won’t.” The man said.

“Why not?”

“Because I say so.” The man said.

“That’s not fair!” The girl protested.

“Life’s not fair, sweetheart, and parents even less so.” Sal said and got up: “I hope you can forgive me for a glass.”

Sal fetched the moonshine and poured himself a shot.

“That’s… uh… strange smelling stuff.” The man said.

“It’s vodka with salty liquorice. My mother’s recipe.” Sal said.

“I guess she wasn’t Italian.” The man said.

“You guess correct. She came to Caruccia from Finland.” Sal said.

The country’s name said nothing to either the man or the woman. 

“It’s a principality of Russia.” Jules said helpfully.

“So, she was Russian?” The man said.

“No. She was Finnish.” Sal said and poured Jules a glass too.

The man couldn’t resist the temptation for long. 

“I think I’ll give it a try too.” The man said.

Sal smiled and poured him one. The man was careful while drinking it, but it didn’t really matter.

“You like it?” Sal said.

“A man could get used to it.” The man said.

“Never get used to the things you love. I’m impressed you could finish it.” Sal said.

“I come from a long line of drinkers.” The man said.

“Can I try it now?” The girl said.

“No.” The man said.

The man had another shot and when you’d had two glasses it was easy to sneak in a third. And a fourth. The atmosphere became downright festive and Jules showed off his acrobatic skills much to the girl’s delight. It wasn’t long that the man’s head started to nod, and his movements became sluggish and clumsy. Sal finished the only drink he’d poured for himself.

“I think… I could show a magic trick now.” Sal said and smiled at the girl: “Give me your hand.”

“I hope your not planning anything inappropriate.” The girl said.

“You’re way too young for me.” Sal said.

The girl gave him her hand and Sal quickly pulled her off her feet. With one smooth motion he pulled out a pair of handcuffs and chained her to a wagon wheel.

“… what?” The girl gasped.

“You bastard!” The man roared and tried to get up.

Tried.

The man’s legs betrayed him, and he stumbled to the ground face first. He tried to get up but might as well have tried to climb a mountain without hands. 

“You… you drugged me!” The man said.

“No. Believe me. You drugged yourself but the effect is much the same.” Sal said.

“… Sal?” Jules said scared.

“Jules. Go get Ragnar. Tell him we have his runaways.” Sal said.

Terror robbed all the color out of the girl’s… Eleanor’s face.

“Wait! No! Please don’t!”

The man… Morgan gave a furious roar and almost managed to force himself up. A light poke from Sal threw him back down. Eleanor looked at Jules pleadingly. He was shivering at the edge of a cliff.

“Please! Help me! Don’t let them take me back!”

Sal glared at the girl. At the scared crying girl. Something in his stare made her fall silent. The sooner this was over, the better it was for Jules. 

“Jules. Get Ragnar.” Sal said without taking his eyes off Eleanor.

Jules didn’t move.

“Jules?”

“Sal… I… I won’t. Please. Uncuff her. This isn’t right.” Jules said.

Sal stood still while everyone in camp waited for his decision. Morgan was growling like a wounded, angry dog. Eleanor was weeping quietly. A chained little bird. Sal sighed.

“I’ll do it. Don’t bother with the lock. You’ll never make it in time. Not when Morgan is that drunk.” Sal said and picked up his top hat.

Jules called after him, but Sal didn’t look back. If he looked back, he was lost. The only way was forward. It had always been the only way. It was time he started walking it. He put his hand in his pocket and felt the gold coin. He squeezed it hard enough for the sharp edges to cut into his flesh and the coin became slimed with blood. These sacrifices wouldn’t seem so heavy when he’d saved the circus and secured them for the winter. For all the winters to come. 

“Sal!”

Jules was running after him. Sal pretended not to hear him. There was no looking behind.

“Sal! Damn it! Sal! Back attack!”

A sharp kick hit Sal between the shoulder blades. It knocked the wind out of his lungs and the coin from his hand when he fell on his knees. 

“The coin!” Sal moaned between gasps for air: “Where’s the coin?!”

“Forget the coin! What is wrong with you?! They are our guests! We don’t violate guest rights!” Jules yelled.

Sal couldn’t bring himself to look Jules in the eyes. 

“She’s a runaway.” Sal said.

“And it sounds like she had a good reason to run away!” Jules said and knelled next to Sal: “Sal… what happened to you?”

Sal looked away.

“We need money.”

“Bad enough to sell out a child?” Jules said.

“I…” 

“Look at me when you talk to me!”

Sal made the mistake of looking Jules in the eyes and saw the wounded trust. Trust was so hard to earn and so easy to lose. It wasn’t fair. 

“… we need money.”

“I don’t need it that badly.” Jules said close to tears.

“… she’s just one girl. What does one girl matter? In a world like this?”

“Everything! In a world like this it’s all that matters. We… in a world like this we must look out for each other. What else can we do?”

Sal tried to think of something to say and a slew of barbs climbed on his tongue. Each crueler than the last. He swallowed them all. 

What would the boy he’d been think of the man he’d become? Sal hadn’t believed in Heaven or Hell since he was eleven. Or any kind of afterlife for that matter. But he believed it was still possible to sell your soul. Even in a world like this. Sometimes you didn’t even know it was for sale.

Sal looked at the circus. The circus his family had built. His circus. It had been entrusted to him and now it was wilting. If something wasn’t done it would be dead soon and it would be his fault. Philippe had taught him what kind of a man he had to be survive. 

Sal forced himself to meet Jules’s gaze.

“She’s just one girl. The circus is everything to me.”

He shook himself free and kept walking.

“Sal… this isn’t you.” Jules cried after him.

“Then maybe you don’t know me as well as you thought.” Sal said without looking back.

“Are… are you really going to bet everything on a mad man’s gratitude?!”

Sal stopped.

Ragnar had gold… and obviously a few worms crawling in his brain. Could he really trust him to hold his end of the deal? If not… all that would mean ending up penniless and having lost Jules. He would sacrifice his soul for nothing.

“They… they have to be running somewhere.” Jules continued: “Whoever is waiting for them… I’m sure they’d be very grateful to get them back safely.”

Sal thought about it. He looked at the small village where Ragnar was waiting with his gold and then turned to stare at his circus… where he’d left a child shackled. 

“Jules… we’ll do it your way.” Sal said.

Jules sighed in relief but there was still that crack. Sal wasn’t sure what kind of a man Jules thought he was but now they both knew Sal couldn’t live up to Jules’s imagination. 

“Good.” Jules said.

They returned to the circus together where Eleanor and Morgan were struggling with the wagon wheel. Mad fury twisted Eleanor’s face when she saw him.

“You!”

“I changed my mind.” Sal said and pulled out a key: “If I uncuff, will you try to kill me?”

Eleanor’s eyes darted between Sal and Jules. Jules smiled at her and the sight made Eleanor calm down. A little anyway.

“I won’t.” Eleanor said.

“What about you, Morgan?” Sal said.

“Just uncuff her.” Morgan growled.

Sal opened the handcuffs and Eleanor rubbed her wrist.

“So… do you two have an actual plan or are you just running blindly?” Sal said.

“None of your business.” Morgan said.

“Morgan… Eleanor… look. This is important. Do you have a plan?” Jules said.

Eleanor looked at Jules for a long time. Really looked at him like she could see through him at his very essence.

“We’re running somewhere.” Eleanor said.

“Someone who’d be grateful to have you back?” Jules said.

Morgan wasn’t as dim as Sal had thought. Realization made his eyes widen and he nodded.

“Yes.”

Sal smiled.

“That’s good. It’s always good to have a plan. Too bad you’ll never make it. Ragnar will find you unless you disappear.” Sal said and looked around: “You wouldn’t stand out in a circus.”

“You think we’d trust you?” Eleanor said and pointed at her red wrist: “After this?!”

“You can trust me.” Jules said.

“Besides, it’s not like you have much of a choice.” Sal said.

Eleanor was quiet for a long time. Finally, she looked at Jules.

“Call me Ellie and I trust you.” She said and glared at Sal: “And I’ll make your life a living hell.”

“Like I said, you’re too young for me.” Sal said.

When it came time to be decided where their guests would sleep, Sal didn’t complain when he got kicked out of his wagon. Ellie looked at Camilla’s empty wagon confused.

“Why can’t we just sleep there?”

“You obviously haven’t seen what happens when you touch Camilla’s stuff without her permission.” Sal said.

Sal and Jules helped to carry Morgan into Sal’s wagon. The old man fell asleep the moment his head touched a pillow. Ellie closed the wagon door behind herself but not before giving Sal the middle finger. 

“Well, this is a fine start.” Sal said.

“I’ll smooth it over.” Jules said. 

“Please do. I’d hate have her make my life a living hell.” Sal said.

Jules smiled and looked at the starry sky.

“It will be a cold night to sleep outside. There’s room in my wagon.” Jules said.

“Thanks, but… I’d rather be alone tonight.” Sal said.

“Oh? Okay.” Jules said disappointed.

After wishing him goodnight, Jules climbed into his wagon. Sal took a lantern and left to find the lost gold coin.


End file.
